


In the Dawning Age

by Mysral



Series: The Seven Realms [2]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: Gen, Lore - Freeform, Mythology - Freeform, Redemption
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 12:53:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13682091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mysral/pseuds/Mysral
Summary: A collection of myths and legends from the Seven Realms setting, detailing the acts of gods and men alike. Behold the rise of the Demon Goddess of Redemption, the machinations of the Fey God of Trickery, and more.





	In the Dawning Age

**Author's Note:**

> Whew! It feels great to finally have this piece complete. Mythology and the quasi-biblical style, while fun to write, can be really damn draining too. All the thees and thous...

In the Dawning Age, when the Seven Realms were young and the Gods still roamed the world, there came a day when seven great and mighty demons gathered together upon the charred wasteland of the Blasted Plains. Chiefest and most terrible among them was Gulomeras, Lady of Corruption and former pupil of the Trickster Lord himself, and great indeed was her ire. “Many are our plans and machinations,” she said unto her fellows, “but too many have failed us. Mortals do not give us the worship that is ours by right. Yea, even the discord we sow among them is too swiftly undone.” And the six demon lords nodded in assent, for they knew it to be true. “It is Celestia’s Gods that are to blame; Bright Livitrea and Wise Motsham most of all,” said Gulomeras, and again the six murmured in agreement. “And so, the time has come for one of them to die,” proclaimed Gulomeras, but this time the demons’ agreement was replaced with shock and anger.

“Thou wouldst have us declare war?” exclaimed Drhaal Mau, he of Pestilence and Rot. “Hast thou taken leave of thy senses? It would be our ruin, as well as theirs, and then what would remain to stop the Fey from seizing all?”

“And even should our essences and forms survive, and our enemies perish,” added E-Tro-Shaa, ponderous Mother of Monsters, “it would be the ruin of this very world. Who wilt thou corrupt and tempt, o Gulomeras, when there is naught but ash and bone remaining?”

“My allies, I did not say war,” said Gulomeras, raising her hand to placate her fellow demons. “I am not so crude or simple. A single strike, swift and sure, is all that is needed to upset the balance in our favor. Long and hard I have thought on this matter, and great is my certainty of my plan’s success. Am I not she who brought proud Ilna-Desh to ruin, where all of you failed? Am I not she who deceived the Deciever, which none have managed before or since? Where, then, is your faith in my power?” And the demon lords, grudgingly, admitted she was right.

Thus satisfied, Gulomeras laid out her plan before them. “Our forms and essences are too well known to Motsham of the Grove, simple though he be in spirit. She who would slay him must therefore be unknown to him. My servant Ma’ani shall serve this purpose.”

“Thy servant,” sneered Marmax the Savage, “cannot hope to meet the wrath of a God. How, then, shall she slay him?” But Gulomeras smiled.

“Even thou, o Marmax of likewise simple thoughts and simpler deeds, knowest that it is through like that one may cut like. Through the thoughts and and prayers, dreams and wishes of mortals, we Gods derive our strength and substance. And so, through those dreams and wishes, we may be undone.”

And so, it was agreed upon the charred wasteland of the Blasted Plains that the Demon Ma’ani should slay the God Motsham, and pledge Ma’ani did that she would see her terrible purpose through.

For seven times seven years and seven days besides, Ma’ani wandered the Seven Realms of the mortal world. Subtle and insidious was the magic of Gulomeras, and Ma’ani roamed unseen and unnoticed between mortal folk. She listened to their hopes and their suffering, tasted their joy and their sorrow, grasped at their prayers and nightmares, and left naught but a shiver of unease in her passing. And when the sun set upon the seventh day of the fiftieth year, she gathered up the essence she had collected, as her master had instructed, and shaped a blade of the dreams and wishes of an entire world.

When morrow came, the Demon Ma’ani made her way to High Celestia – for in those days the doors between worlds were both many and open – and finally arrived at the Peaceful Grove where Motsham the Gentle made his home. In dissembling guise, she approached the guardians of the gate, and said unto them, “I am a wanderer, poor and alone, who has come from far in search of wisdom.” The Children of Motsham, their eyes and minds clouded by the magic of the Proud Lady, agreed to let her in, and soon presented her before Motsham himself, there in the heart of his Domain where he was most at home and most vulnerable.

“Be welcome, child,” said Patient Motsham, God of Light, appearing even in his own domain as a humble man-shape of bark and branches. “What seekest thou, that thou art come all this way?”

“I seek to please my Master and fulfill my purpose!” declared Ma’ani, and with a great and terrible cry she surged forward and thrust the blade she had forged into Motsham’s wooden heart. Motsham fell with a gasp, his power and body broken, for it is through dreams and wishes that gods are given strength, and through dreams and wishes that they may be undone.

But Motsham did not die all at once, for he parted his trembling lips and said, “O child, but for my failing strength I would weep for thee. I hope that thy next purpose, wherever thou mayest find it, shall not be so fell a task.”

This benediction took Ma’ani by surprise, and she exclaimed, “Why dost thou not hate me? I, who have slain thee!”

To which Motsham smiled gently, and answered unto her, “The blade that wounds cannot be blamed for where its wielder aims it. Thou art as much a blade as thou art a wielder, o vassal of Gulomeras. Would that I could know thee better, for there is a seed of sweet potential in thee still that may yet grow strong. But alas, I must rest, now, and perhaps evermore.”

And with those final words, Motsham, God of Light, Patience and Wisdom, perished in the heart of his Domain, and was no more. And all the world trembled with his passing, though few realized just what had transpired.

Ma’ani, having succeeded in her purpose, found her victory strangely hollow. She had slain an enemy of her Master, but she felt no satisfaction. She held the power and essence of a God in her hand, but she felt neither joy nor exultation; only emptiness, and a cold and growing pain.

Gulomeras had bidden her servant to make haste when the deed was done and deliver the essence of Motsham to her Domain, the Golden Palace deep in the dread Abyss. But Ma’ani, though she fled the dying Grove with a swiftness born of fear, soon found herself slowing. First she flew on dark-feathered wings; then she ran; then she ran on sharp-clawed feet; then she walked; then walked slower still.

Finally, on a lonely mountain road, far from mortals and gods alike, she fell to her knees with a wail of despair. For seven times seven years and seven days besides, she had touched the dreams and wishes of mortals as numberless as the stars, and they in turn had touched her. She had felt hope and despair, joy and sorrow, hatred and love, and she found her essence to be changed. No longer was she the simple servant Gulomeras had commanded; no longer did the thought of corruption and ruin please her; no longer did she look on the death of Motsham with anything save horror and guilt. Broken by conflict and burdened by sorrow, the Demon Ma’ani collapsed and wept bitter tears.

There she remained on the mountain road, cold and alone, for a night and a day and a night again. So profuse were her tears that they gave form to a stream, a white-foaming waterfall down the mountainside. But when dawn came once more, it brought with it a lone mortal man. His name was Nune and he was a tinker, who traveled between towns to ply his craft, and his was a kind and gentle heart. When he saw the weeping woman by the side of the road, knowing not who she was, he was taken with concern and compassion

“O lady,” said he, “why dost thou weep?”

“I weep for what I have become and what I have done,” said Ma’ani unto him, her voice thick with tears. “Now leave me. I have caused dreadful suffering already – do not burden thyself with my sorrow, and so become another victim.”

Nune, however, shook his head and declared, “Lady, I cannot, in good conscience, leave thee so.”

“Then thy conscience is flawed, for I am not worthy of thy pity,” spat Ma’ani.

But at those words, Nune bristled. “Thou wouldst presume to know my conscience? Thou wouldst pretend to know my worth? Upon what dost thou base it, thou who knowest me not?” And Ma’ani was so taken by surprise at these words that she forgot, for a moment, to weep. Nune did continue, “Thou wouldst spare me thy suffering, thinking my needs greater than thine, but perhaps it is I who is guilty of causing greater misery; perhaps it is I who is unworthy of thy concern. Canst thou know it so surely?”

In confusion and hesitation, Ma’ani answered, “Thou seemest to be a good and gentle person.”

“Aye,” said Nune, “and thou seemest so, too; for what wicked person would spare such concern for a stranger passing by? And so I ask, grant that I may give thee the same benefit of doubt that thou givest me. I know not if I can help thee, but I beg that I may be allowed to try. Besides, I cannot easily pass further; a small river doth cross this road, where first there was none.”

And despite herself, Ma’ani did laugh helplessly and agree to speak to him, if only to convince him. She told unto Nune the tale of the murder by her hand, though she spared him the detail of who both she and her victim were. Nune nodded gravely, for to rob another of life is indeed a serious crime, but even so he did not shun her or abjure her. “What is done is done,” said he, “and oftentimes cannot be undone again.”

“Thou dost agree, then,” answered Ma’ani, “that I am beyond help.”

But Nune shook his head, and declared, “Nay, lady, I did not say that. Yea, thou hast done something terrible; but this is not the end of this world, and it is not the end of thee. Thou dost still stand and breathe; thou hast still eyes to see, a heart to feel, and hands to raise to a cause. So I say: Raise them! There is goodness in this world, aye, goodness all around – but like a growing flame, it needeth cherishing and care. If thou canst offer that – if only a little – than surely, the world shall be the better for it.”

Ma’ani, however, shook her head at those words, the dark cloud of despair still thick over her heart. “Even if I do go forth to do good; even if, in my foolishness, I succeed – I have still done a most dreadful thing. How could I ever wipe that blot from my soul?”

Nune answered unto her, “Thou canst not. Not ever, not truly. But why should that prevent thee from doing good all the same? Indeed, thou hast already started: didst thou not try to turn me away, so that I would not suffer?” And Ma’ani drew in a breath of surprise, for she realized he was right.

“But all the same,” said Nune, “there is one last thing I would ask thee to think on. Art thou truly the same person who struck another down? Art thou, after all thou hast thought and felt, unchanged in heart and soul from what thou wert then? Perhaps, tomorrow or in ten or in fifty years’ time, that answer shall be: No. Perhaps, that might bring thee peace.”

And for a long moment Ma’ani stood still in silent conflict, but the words of the tinker had moved her heart, and to her great surprise she found that a spark of hope, long-lost, had been ignited again within her. She rose from the dust of the road and, with gentle care so as not to harm his mortal form, embraced the tinker with a tender smile. “I thank thee, Nune,” she said unto him. “I thank thee most deeply. Now, mayest thou be the first flame of goodness that I tend.” And with that, she spread her dark-feathered wings and bore him safely across the white-running river.

Thus, it came to be that the demon Ma’ani, former servant of Gulomeras, went to wander the world once more. But where at first she had only listened, now she reached out and offered her hand in aid. Ten thousand wounds were mended; ten thousand woes assuaged; ten thousand lives touched and left brighter than they were before.

Presently, dread Gulomeras grew restless in her golden palace, deep in the twisted reaches of the Abyss. “Motsham hath fallen,” mused she, “but Ma’ani hath yet to return. Could it be that other gods gave chase and struck her down? Or, could it be that she hath betrayed me, and kept his power for herself?” Gulomeras herself was no stranger to betrayal, but the thought that it might happen to her gnawed at her unbearably, and so she called forth her many servants and said unto them, “Seek ye out Ma’ani, one and all, that her purpose may be yet fulfilled!”

But Ma’ani had expected this, and she held yet the subtle arts that her one-time Master had given her. And thus, no matter how the many demons of Gulomeras searched, far and wide, she evaded them, and they found no trace of her passing. Neither did the sundry creatures of the Fey Gods and Earthly Gods, themselves sent out to seek the essence of Motsham. At last, frustrated by the failure of her underlings, Gulomeras donned her finest set of bejeweled armor, took up her hooked blade of gold and set forth into the world to personally find her wayward servant. However, even the Perilous One, for all her power, found the chase long and arduous, for Ma’ani had learned much and more while walking the Realms, and so seven times seven years and seven days besides passed by.

Finally, as the sun set on the seventh day of the fiftieth year since the conversation on the mountaintop, Gulomeras found Ma’ani alone in a sheltered grove.

“Thou art late, o servant of mine,” said Gulomeras unto the wandering demon, the calm in her voice belied by the grass withering at her feet.

Ma’ani, however, nodded her head and answered peacefully, “Indeed I am late, o Gulomeras, for this evening I was to attend the name-day feast of a friend. In days past, she was a thief and brigand; but she is a better person now, and hath found both peace and forgiveness. Alas, that I had to hide from a war-unicorn and several devils besides, and am now hours late.”

“Thou hast learned to jest, it seems,” sneered Gulomeras, “but in turn, forgotten obedience. Enough of this prattle; now givest thou me the essence of Motsham.”

But Ma’ani shook her head and said, “It is not mine to give thee; it is Motsham’s still, and his alone.”

At this brazen defiance, Gulomeras narrowed her dreadful eyes and bared her white, sharp teeth. “Treacherous filth,” she snarled. “Hast thou taken leave of thy senses? Hast thou forgotten what horrors await those who defy me? Render unto me what is mine, or the horror of thy torment shall sicken even Marmax!”

“Then I give thee kind greetings,” said Ma’ani, standing firm and bright despite her fear, “and I shall be on my way once more.”

Hearing these words, Gulomeras ignited in rage, and with a scream of utmost fury she raised her golden blade and made to smite Ma’ani once and for all. But when the weapon came down, there was a roaring crack of thunder and a flash of brilliant light. So mighty was the shock that it split open the earth and smashed the trees of the grove to kindling, and even the goddess Gulomeras was flung backwards by its force. Opposite her, Ma’ani rose from where she had fallen, the simple staff of a wanderer in her hand, and welling up inside her was a deep and wondrous power.

“What is this?” exclaimed Gulomeras in disbelief, but she already knew it for what it was. “Divine power? Thou hast taken Motsham’s strength for thyself?”

“Nay,” answered Ma’ani, herself hardly comprehending what had just transpired. “I said already that it is not mine to give; I cannot give it, for it lies where I placed it, safe within his grove under Dastreuse’s watchful eye.”

And Gulomeras screamed, “Then how? Thou hast stolen no more essence, made no pacts with other gods, else I would know! Thine only dealings have been with mortals.” And suddenly both demons were filled with understanding. For seven times seven years Ma’ani had wandered, and had given aid and solace to people as numerous in the stars in the sky. The people of the Seven Realms had come to bear her in their hearts and minds; and after all, while it is true that through the power of dreams and wishes gods may be undone, it is also through dreams and wishes that they might _become_.

And Ma’ani smiled wistfully, and said unto her former Master, “Perhaps I do not deserve this power; but I bear it nonetheless. And so, I shall honor the faith and the hardship of the people who granted it. I shall be peace where there is strife; I shall be mending where there is ruin; I shall be redemption where there is corruption.”

“Insolent wretch,” spat Gulomeras, “Thou wouldst defy me, thy Master, who gave thee purpose and life?”

And Ma’ani declared, “Thou didst give me purpose, once; but I am that creature no longer. I am neither bound to thy will nor trapped in fear of thy wrath. Yea, I will defy thee, now and forever more!” With those words, she planted her staff in the ground and stared down her fellow Demon Goddess. “Thou shalt not strike at me here and now, lest we both come to ruin, or the Rainbow Dragon intervene.”

Gulomeras did seethe in dreadful rage, but she knew the words of Ma’ani to be the truth, and so she raised her hook and said, “This is not through, Ma’ani. Know that our fight is far from over.”

“I know it is,” said Ma’ani. “So knowest thou that I shall be ready, now and forever, to remake what thou hast broken.” And with a howl of impotent rage, Gulomeras spread her wings and took to the skies, fleeing for her palace.

And so it was that the demon Ma’ani became, in her own right, a Goddess: She of Forgiveness, Redemption and Peace. And so it was, too, that in his peaceful grove, under the caring eyes of Dastreuse, Livitrea and Ma’ani herself, Motsham was reborn into the world from his gathered essence and the hopes and prayers of his followers. Great was Ma’ani’s trepidation at meeting he who had been her victim, but Motsham saw the gentleness in her heart and embraced her as a sister.

The Dawning Age is now a distant memory, and the Gods no longer walk the Seven Realms. Yet even now, though many hands bring about suffering in many ways, the Weeping Goddess stands gentle but firm, ready to help cleanse it and mend things anew.


End file.
